Crescendo
by Becommissar
Summary: Or: That Marching Band AU, aca-child of czadrich on Tumblr, penned by me, Becommissar of . Beca finds herself auditioning for the Marching Band, something she finds totally lame. But somehow, for some reason, she keeps coming back. Bechloe AU, plus side Staubrey.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. Well, here it is. The thing that nobody asked me to do but I got inspired to soo…. Also I'm sorry about any minor inaccuracies, I was once** **in a marching band, but in the UK! Our traditions are quite different from the US (where this AU is based) so I'm sorry if I get anything wrong.**

Beca loved music, but she thought she was too cool to admit it. Her type of music was jazz or rock music; the former she played on her clarinet and the latter her guitar. So when she moved to Atlanta, Georgia, to attend the school that her dad had gotten a job at, she was not pleased to discover the only music-related course available was the school marching band. _Marching band._ This sounds exactly like the kind of crap Jesse would yammer about with his goddamn movies…

" _Come on, Be-caw! It'll be fun!"_

 _Beca glared at him. "And this is exactly why I ditched you after two weeks."_

 _Jesse continued, undeterred. "Go on, you've never gone and done this before. If it's terrible, don't go again. But I will tell Mr Mitchell if his daughter isn't 'putting herself out there' like she should be in her high school years. Go on, try it out. I'm telling you now, as a friend that if you go I will conveniently forget to tell Mr Mitchell exactly who broke his favourite mug. And try to enjoy it. Besides," he added, winking at her, "you might meet the perfect guy there. Or girl."_

 _Beca promptly threw a pillow at him._

She smiled fondly at the memory. Now Jesse was a four-hour flight away, much more difficult to throw a pillow at. But now she faced the second week of her new school, with its stupid mascot, The Barden Knight, leering at her from the free plushie chucked her way and the bloody stickers attached to her locker. Worse still, today was the day of the new auditions for marching band. Also, she had to attend. Her dad had found out she was considering it and was so proud, he promised her a new guitar or clarinet. Tears in his eyes, he muttered his pride in his daughter, going so far outside her comfort zone. She shrugged him off and strolled into school, her clarinet conveniently hidden in her sport bag. Beca might be a reclusive music nerd, but she was also a really fit girl under the baggy dark clothes and hoodie.

An hour before auditions, she went for a jog around the track to relax a bit. Clad in a white wicking shirt and short shorts, she did a lap of the 800m to try and get herself to calm down. It took an additional one and a half laps before she did calm down, and it was only due to a sprint she did at the end that left her out of breath and sweaty. A quick shower and off to get ready for auditions… she guessed.

She was greeted by two guys called Tommy and Justin, who told her to fill out a form or two. Tommy regarded her sceptically, barely glancing at her and her worn clarinet. Justin, on the other hand, seemed cheerful and bright, telling her in an unusual note of sadness that he wished desperately he could play an instrument, but had incredibly bad hand-eye coordination.

The best word to describe what happens when a large group of musically minded students group together is chaos. Noise everywhere, talking, giggling, warming up instruments, basslines blasting from headphones etcetera led to a very noisy environment.

She stood away from the other people coming to try out, some forty enthusiastic teenagers blasting brass, amongst other things, to warm it up. She sighed, regarding everything uninterestedly. If it weren't for Jesse, she wouldn't even _be_ here…

"Hiya!" Beca nearly jumped out of her skin. She looked over to her left, where two girls stood expectantly. One was tall, thin and brunette, the other the exact inverse, small, fat and blonde. The brunette held a trombone in lithe fingers, and the blonde carried no instrument.

"Hey, I'm Stacie," the brunette said kindly. "This here is Fat Amy. You're here to audition right? What instrument do you play?"

Before Beca could open her mouth the blonde spoke. As if reading her mind, she said, "Yeeh, Fat Amy's the name. 'Cause otherwise twig bitches like you call me it behind mah back. My real name's Patricia though; but Fat Pat don't have the same feeling does it?" She fist bumped Beca enthusiastically, who certainly less-than-enthusiastically returned it. "So, you know our names, what's yours? I can't keep callin ya Short Stack in ma head, tempting as it may be."

"I'm called Beca. I play the clarinet. And guitar. But for the purposes of this _thing_ ," here she rolled her eyes, "I play the clarinet."

"Hi Beca," Stacie said, winking lasciviously at her. "I play the trombone. I got the reach, if you know what I mean." She mimed something certainly R-rated as Beca's face flushed. Quickly dragging her mind off of what Stacie could do to an innocent body like hers, she turned to Fat Amy.

"You haven't got an instrument. Are you here as support or…?"

"Aww, no shortstack, I'm a musician at heart. I play the big-ass trumpet thing that rests on ya shoulders. Called a sousaphone. But I don't carry that mother when I can avoid it."

Beca nodded mutely. If this was what band kids were like, she was going to suffer so badly for this. She was going to **kill** Jesse. Still, once she got it over with, she was free. And also with a new guitar or clarinet.

"Well, Beca, we'll stick around with you if that's okay. Amy can't be arsed to go get her sousa so we'll get it when she's going to perform. You look like you like to blend in so I guess having your own crowd is good?"

At this moment, they were ushered away to sit down in little rows. A small squadron of people walked out, trailed by two guys she recognised as Tommy and Justin, the boys she met before. She guessed they were important in the marching band. They lined up, some smiling, others stern.

"Welcome," Tommy said, "to the auditions for the Barden Fancies Marching Band. These are the section leaders."

"Donald," a dark skinned boy nodded soulfully from the left. "I'm Trumpet Co-Leader, with Unicycle." A similarly tanned boy waved cheerfully, holding in one hand a unicycle and in the other a trumpet. Beca shook her head. It seemed so stupid, so… weird.

"I'm Kolio. Drumline."

The introductions continued in this fashion until an explosion of ginger distracted her as its owner bobbed toward the front of the stage. Time froze for Beca as she took a second to drink in this girl. She had a short forehead, ginger hair concealing most of it from gaze. Hopeful eyes darted from place to place, scanning the crowd expectantly. She seemed to be wearing a pink lipgloss, her slightly pointed jaw accentuating her cheekbones and lips… hot damn. This girl was gorgeous. In spite of herself, she felt her chest flutter unexpectedly with butterflies. _No_ , she reminded herself, _love at first sight is_ _so_ _not a thing. Besides, wait, you're not gay!_ Lost in her musing, she almost missed what the girl said next.

"Hi! I'm Chloe, I'm in charge of the piccolo section." Searing bright blue eyes met hers, and Beca could have sworn the ginger blushed. The enthusiasm seemed to be hindered by a sudden onset of embarrassment. "Um, uh, this is Aubrey, she looks after the flutes. Or something."

Beca felt Stacie contract next to her as the girl named Aubrey stepped forward. She was shapely and tall, with a confident air to her that seemed infective. She said nothing, only nodding and stepping back to stand next to Chloe - her friend, Beca guessed. "God, she is so hot," Stacie muttered, mostly to herself, but Beca caught it and smiled inwardly. Stacie seemed like the kind of girl who could get _anyone_ she wanted, a fact that for some reason made Beca insanely jealous- but she had no reason to be, right? She didn't fancy anyone…!

The audition was mind-numbingly simple, a few scales and a piece she already knew. Then she was out, with a good luck message from the clarinet leader, a British boy named Luke. He was a cool guy, he recognised what kind of person Beca was instantly, and adapted accordingly. She felt refreshed after her audition and left, enthused.

But, when she thought about how her audition went, one thing kept coming back to her.

A pair of hauntingly blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not particularly surprising to Beca when she got a call from Luke saying to come to the first rehearsal. It seemed her old clarinet would be seeing some action soon enough.

Luke greeted her warmly, shaking her hand in a firm grasp. "I was worried you weren't going to come," he admitted lowly to her as they walked towards the other clarinet players. "You didn't seem the type, but you're good, really good. So, welcome to band club, kiddo," he said, grinning. She weakly returned his smile.

Luke scanned the group, doing a mental headcount of who was there. "We got three no-shows, that's disappointing. Oh well. Those of you who were here last year, feel free to do whatever. We might run through some stuff later." Eleven of the fifteen musicians there turned and walked away, leaving Beca, Luke, and three others. He smiled at the obviously-nervous kids and turned to Beca.

"Arms up." She raised her arms and Luke quickly measured her arm span and leg length. "You're a small top, extra small trousers. And hat…" he measured her head size too, "you're a small also. You're a little person, Beckie."

"It's Beca-,"

"Clothes are that way, pay upfront or by the end of the week else you're doing dishes for months in return for them." Luke ignored her protestations and she walked over to the long queue of musicians. Just in front of her was Fat Amy and two other girls she didn't know.

"Short Stack!" Amy exclaimed as she spotted the small girl hiding. "Bout time! We thought you didn't make it! I knew ya would, though. I got faith in you. This is CR, Cynthia-Rose. And this here is Lily Onakuramara."

Cynthia smiled at her, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Beca."

Beca mutely shook it, noting the thumb ring. I guess Cynthia-Rose bats for the other team, she thought. Lily merely looked at her, before trying to say something that came out more as a mumble.

"Lily's rather quiet," Cynthia whispered into Beca's ear. "Although weirdly, she plays percussion. Just make sure you don't try and hear what she says. Rumor has it she was born with gills like a fish."

Beca was right. She was _so_ going to suffer for this. She asked Cynthia some questions before retreating to consider her knowledge. One, all band kids are strange. Two, Cynthia Rose plays the saxophone. Three, she is terrified of Lily. Four, Fat Amy is the champion sousaphone player in Tasmania with hair. Five, this scares her a lot as well.

When she finally got to the front of the queue, she looked into a pair of deep blue eyes. "Hi, can I help you?" the girl behind the desk asked.

"Y-yeah," Beca said nervously. "You're Chloe aren't you? Piccolo leader?"

"Oh! Yeah, I totes am. Aubrey," she gestured towards the blonde stood next to her, "runs the flutes section. How can I help you?"

"Band clothes…?" Beca gestured helplessly to her form. "I don't really know, dude."

Chloe giggled, "Oh, that's okay." _Who the hell even giggles nowadays?_ "What size are you?"

"Uh..." She said awkwardly, trying to recall what Luke said. "Small hat and shirt, extra small trousers." At this Chloe squealed.

"You're so tiny! I think this is the first extra small trouser set we've had to order today! Isn't it, Bree?"

Aubrey regarded her coolly, taking her in. "Hm, yes I suppose it is." She held a clipboard in one hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Jesse would drool over her in an instant. Hot, nerdy chicks, as he called them, were his jam. God knows why he thought it would even be possible to date Beca with those standards.

"Okay," Aubrey said, noting down something on her clipboard. "Standard costs are $120 for the jacket, $40 for the trousers, $20 for your shako, or hat in layman terms," she rolled her eyes. "Shoe size… I'm guessing about a six or seven, which'll be about $25… Oh! Do you have your own gloves?"

Beca rolled her eyes. "Sure I do." She pulled them out of her bag. They were leather skater gloves, and not at all what Aubrey seemed to have in mind. Her expression went from slightly impressed to the default bitch-face Beca was already beginning to recognize.

"$5 then. All in all…" she rapidly tapped on a calculator, running figures faster than Beca could read them, "Two hundred eight dollars and eight cents, excluding shipping. That's plus the discount on account of your hobbit stature."

Beca scowled. "I'm not a hobbit. Also, why the fuck is it so expensive? This is gonna cost me like three months wages and allowance!"

Chloe piped up, "Things are tough, huh? I could help. If you could give me a hand this time next week, I can get Bree to take off... hmm, fifty eight dollars and eight cents and the shipping fee," she smiled. "That puts it to a round one fifty. I like round numbers."

Beca almost laughed at the present scene. Aubrey was glaring at Chloe with a mixture of anger and disbelief, whilst Chloe happily grinned back. Beca remained skeptical.

"What do I have to do?"

Chloe squealed. "Okay, its super easy. I need someone to give me a hand with some music for this thing I run at the local school and you seem like you got good music taste. I mean," she gestured the girl up and down, "you got the look and the right headphones. Someone did her homework before buying those babies."

"Oh, these?" Beca murmured softly, fingering the leatherette cups protectively. "Yeah, they're precious to me."

"Will you do it? Help the school, I mean. The kids love singing, and they've been bugging me for new tunes to bang out of the old piano. Help me turn their dreams into a reality?" She seemed almost cautious, hanging onto Beca's words desperately. Beca suddenly became acutely aware of the people in the queue behind her, and so she stepped to the side to consider it whilst Aubrey rang up someone else.

"I, um, my music probably wouldn't suit schoolkids," Beca got out lamely.

"Well, that's okay- Beca, right?" At Beca's nod, she continued. "It's okay, you don't have to. I just thought…" The look of intense disappointment on her face almost made Beca cave.

"I, uh… well, I guess I could show you some of it..?" Beca's body betrayed her. The grin that lit up Chloe's face almost hurt.

"You would? That's totes amazing! When are you free?"

"Uh…" Beca scratched the back of her neck, staring skyward in an attempt to recall her timetable. "Well, band rehearsals are out, as is Saturday and Sunday morning 'cause…" she mumbled something incoherent before clearing her throat and continuing. "So, like, Tuesday and Thursday after school and weekend afternoons, I guess?"

"Cool, how about Tuesday after school? I'll bring snacks," she added hopefully, trying to persuade the brunette.

"Excuse me, Beca," Aubrey called to her. "I still haven't finished your forms. So that's one fifty," she said through gritted teeth, crossing out some things, "including shipping, shipping to where?"

"School is fine," Beca said. As she answered the following questions, she noticed Chloe, in her periphery, never stopped moving. She was bobbing from one foot to the other, fiddling with her wristbands, flicking her hair out of her eyes which seemed to never leave Beca.

"Okay, almost done, hobbit. What's your surname?"

Beca sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Yeah, let's forget the surname." Her face took on a stony look strangely reminiscent of the latest rock that Chloe had just been studying for her Advanced Philosophy class and for a few seconds she was afraid for Aubrey's safety. Then she glanced over to her best friend of almost forever, and saw the same expression mirrored.

You know how in rock-paper-scissors, when you get two of a kind nobody really knows what to do? This was how Chloe felt, watching this girl who was a good four inches shorter than her best friend give her an expression that clearly said don't fuck with me. Chloe knew she herself was not a rock, she danced in the shower for god's sake, so she figured stepping in would either end excellently or horrendously. Evidently she did not factor in the height differences. Stepping directly in front of Beca and turning to face Aubrey, tilting her head slightly upward to look at her defiant friend; she realized what a grave mistake this was.

"You- cut it out. That glare is not suitable for this environment. And you- we need your name so we don't give your stuff to someone else. So cut the death glare and give us your name."

She turned around to face Beca, who was suddenly stepping hurriedly away, a blush staining her cheeks. "Sure, sure, whatever. I'm Beca Mitchell."

"Mitchell?" Aubrey asked idly. "Like Dr Mitchell, the English teacher? God, I see the family resemblance. Is it your fault he's a massive dick?"

Beca sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You really don't like me, do you? Yes, my father is Dr Mitchell. And no, he hasn't been around long enough to actually affect me." She looked on the verge of either screaming in Aubrey's face or collapsing into tears, so much so that Chloe immediately changed the subject.

"We're all done. That's one fifty, right Bree?"

Aubrey regarded Beca noncommittally, before shrugging. She muttered something darkly to Chloe, who squealed indignantly and shoved her friend. "I do not!"

"You really do. Anyway, Beca. One fifty, pay me by the end of the week. This time next week, come pick it up."

Beca replied in an utterly disinterested manner, something along the lines of "thanks, I'll be there," before turning to go.

"Oh, wait, Beca!" Chloe waved her arms frantically. "Tuesday?"

"Sure, Tuesday," Beca called, containing the sudden urge to say something sarcastic that might lose her a discount. This girl was getting on her nerves already, but heck, if nearly sixty dollars for playing someone some of your music didn't, well, sing to her. She was too cheerful and peppy, and by god, she volunteers at a school. Plus that bitch of a best friend of hers, Aubrey.

She was _so_ going to suffer for this.

 **A.N. Sorry for the wait guys, if you follow me on Tumblr (i-might-be-a-nerd) you would know I've been very ill and unable to write. However! I am ill no longer, and thus a chapter is born. Huge props to czadrich for coming up with the concept and name for this fic, PLUS betareading for me. I swear, this girl wrote it, not me! Thanks for reading, until we read again, ~Becommissar**


	3. Chapter 3

Beca Mitchell likes the darkness. She likes staying alone in her room with the lights off while she plays her music. She likes the comfort it gives her, and when she plays her clarinet and closes her eyes, the music she creates translates into a palette of dark blues and grays. That is her bubble of comfort and when people disrupt that bubble, Beca Mitchell gets grumpy. Sort of.

Chloe Beale is the complete opposite. Chloe Beale is sunshines and rainbows, from her fiery red hair to her bright blue eyes. So the thought of Beca having to meetup with this ball of energy later in the day made her want to turn the lights of the world off so she could just go back to sleep.

But of course that's not the case. Of course her dad just had to barge in her room and wake her up. This time he asked where his favorite pen was ( _fuck off_ ), where the stack of paper he brought in yesterday was ( _up your ass_ ), and when she was getting up ( _neve_ r).

And what ticked Beca off the most was: why her? Why would he ask her when she would be the last person to know? Heck, his least favorite student from his class last year probably knew where his stuff was more than she did. She knew he was just trying to get close to her, or to make up for his absence, but he was just doing it in all the wrong ways.

"Dad, I don't fucking care. Ask the step-monster."

Beca squinted her eyes open a crack just enough to see her father's silhouette illuminated in her doorframe. As usual, he was slouching, his usual tired look on his face.

"Come on, Bec, call her by her name. Or Mom, if you wanna reduce it to one syllable. It can't be too hard, right? Sheila tries, give her a chance. Now get up right now."

She groaned, rolling into her bed further. She could respect that he wanted to find love again, okay. But what she would never understand was how he expected her to call the woman her mother. Because no, Sheila was not her mother, and never will be.

"Five minutes, now please go because once I get up I will change my clothes and I'm a grown girl now dad, can't have you around when I'm changing."

Her father sighed in defeat and nodded, closing the door again and sinking the room into the relaxing darkness she loved.

Beca hated early mornings almost as much as she hated Sheila. Treading downstairs in flannel and a t-shirt, loose jeans lazily slipped on, she nearly tripped over the woman coming up the stairs.

"Sheila," Beca said curtly, sidestepping her stepmother with a well-practiced ease. Grabbing the nearest box of fortified sugar and E numbers she could find; referred to by most as breakfast cereal, she plopped down onto the worn leather sofa and began the search for her headphones.

"Beca, honey, if you're looking for your headphones they're on the dining room table," Sheila's voice drifted from the doorway. Beca froze, before straightening up with the nearest object she could find, the TV remote. "Nah, found it," she said nonchalantly, before switching on the TV. She didn't like the feeling of her stepmother knowing what was in her head. "Don't call me honey, by the way. You don't need to pretend to care about me." She flicked to some inconsequential channel as she filled a bowl with cereal; ignoring Sheila and whatever she was trying to say entirely.

"Beca, your lunch and bus money is on the dining room table, as well as your headphones. Your dad gave me $50 for you, for your music?"

"Marching band uniform," Beca responded, not exactly looking at the uninteresting comedy sketch playing out on the television, more like looking through it. It was better than being dragged into a conversation with the older woman.

"Yes, he said something about that." Footfalls coming closer. Her eyes still did not leave the screen, where a very attractive suited man bumped into a pretty lady whilst he held an umbrella, quipping, "I'm so sorry, I seem to have got you wet." She scoffed under her breath. TV is so lame.

"We're proud of you Beca." Sheila told her, resting her hands gently on Beca's shoulders.

"You've got no right to be proud of me." Beca scoffed, finally tearing her eyes from the screen and shrugging out of the woman's grasp. "You married into it. Married into the money. You don't know me. I don't want you to know me." A pause hung heavy between the women, until Beca forced herself off the sofa, switching off the TV. "I'm going," she said simply, grabbing her bag and heading into the dining room to grab the cash and her headphones, which she slipped around her neck, settling as comfortably as if they were a part of her. They were unassuming, plain even, but the sound that came from them was amazing. Yet now she was brought memories of an overexcited red-headed puppy with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen complimenting them, and her face fell.

That girl was getting on her nerves. One day, that's all. Then she didn't need to talk to her again. Anyway, if it went really badly, she could just quit the marching band. Problem solved.

She kicked the door open, something which garnered the protestation of her father and her, before slamming it shut. If she was going to pay this girl for this uniform (Beca refused to think of either of the girls' names, having conveniently forgotten them) she needed to find $100 from somewhere. Well, she had $15 in her bag, she could just skip lunch and cycle there, right? That meant she only needed $85. It'd be tight, but she could fit the amount she needed from those daily $15 into six or seven days. If she pushed it hard, she could pull some of the funds from her project into it, to get it down to four days. That settled it.

Setting her jaw, she pulled her bike from in the shed and checked it still had everything after the chaos of the move. Wheels, times two. Check. Brake pads, times two. Check. Break levers, times two. Check. Gears, times like six or seven? Probably check. Pushing down on the pedal led to a wheel spinning, so she presumed all worked. Finding her motorcycle helmet – oh yeah, damn right Beca could ride a motorbike, but her dad had made her sell it when they moved – she pushed off and started to cycle.

The moment she arrived at the gates to Barden High, she slipped her headphones on and allowed herself to sink into the music provided by her MP3 player. Sure, she couldn't fling birds and pigs on it, but it worked well and served its purpose – providing her a soundtrack to make the world shut up.

She avoided her father where she could in school, like most students. He was not particularly lenient when it came to troublemakers, so Beca kept as far away from him as she could. He was the kind of teacher who pinned you for wearing too much makeup, or for helping someone with last minute homework. He was the kind of teacher you were terrified of, even if you had no reason to be. Every school had one, and it just so happened her father was quickly becoming that person.

In fact, she avoided mostly everyone in school. Beca liked being alone, and enjoyed it far more than company. Whenever someone tried to befriend her, whether it was as a result of her apparent loneliness or just because they wanted to steal her lunch money to go smoke something illegal, she ignored them. Blanked them. It was safer that way. She got decent enough results for tests. She didn't need friends, she had herself and her music. Music guided her. Always had, always would.

Yet, some people are unshakeable. Like dogs to a bone, you just can't get rid of them. One of those people was Emily Junk, a girl a year or so younger than her who had walked in on her playing music in one of the practice rooms and had instantly taken to her. Beca wished she wouldn't. She was excited, again, about something irrelevant, flapping her arms about like a dodo making a last attempt at flight, before settling down to tell Beca "all about it". Beca disinterestedly stole crisps from the younger girl's lunch as she "listened", considering it her fee. About halfway through this, Beca's phone buzzed, and she glanced down.

 _ **UNKNOWN NUMBER**_ _: we're still on for tonight right? Xx_

Emily leaned over her shoulder and read the message, halting her tirade about some project she was working on to gasp in surprise. "Beca M, you're a taken lady?"

Beca rolled her eyes. "Whatever Emily." She responded to the text as politely as she could:

 _sorry, wrong number?_

"No way! You're totally dating someone! Beca's got a boyfriend, Beca's got a boyfriend!"

"Emily," Beca warned lowly, "if you say that again I will break your neck and I will enjoy it." Emily sulked for a second before brightening.

"Hey, you're not denying it!"

Her phone buzzed again.

 _ **UNKNOWN NUMBER:**_ _nope, definitely you xx have you forgotten already?_

She began to respond _no, I don't know you,_ when she received another message.

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER:** _meet you outside Barden High at 4? Xx okay see you there_

"Emily," Beca said crisply, turning to look at the innocent girl, "where did you get my number?"

"Me?" Emily asked. "Oh my stars, I don't think I have it. Lemme check…"

"Don't bother," Beca cut her off sharply. "It doesn't matter. I need to get going."

"For your date?" Emily asked, wriggling her eyebrows and drumming a rhythm on the Formica table below.

"No, Emily. For Chemistry and English." Emily sucked in a breath through her teeth. "With Dr Mitchell?" At Beca's nod yes, she made a sympathetic face.

"Have fun. Rumours say he garrotted his own child. Also, he apparently laughs really loud every full moon. Nobody knows why."

Beca gritted her teeth and smiled, forcefully.

Beca loved chemistry class, not as much as she loved music class, but it was up there. Hence the hour of the subject flew relatively inconsequentially, and she shrugged off the lab coat she wore and headed to her last class. English. With none other than her father.

She knew the drill in his lessons; but this was the first anyone else in her group had had with him. She waited silently inside the classroom by the door, bag by her feet. She had redone her hair so that it was actually in line with the school regs and made sure her nail polish didn't show. She didn't want to give him an excuse to trouble her.

Her classmates, on the other hand, were not being so careful. Someone had dyed their hair purple, and another was trying to set a fart on fire. All around there was extraordinarily loud laughter and chatting, something that made her wince. When he came in, she recognized the face. She winced stronger, waiting for the blowup.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

The talking stopped immediately, the flame for the firefart was extinguished and all fell silent, scared. He resumed walking towards his desk, a smile firmly in place. "Hello, class. Much better. My name is Dr. Mitchell, and I'm going to be teaching you English this year. Everybody stand up, and stand by the wall- ah. Stand next to Rebeca, now. Take your bags."

Beca found herself being stared at, and she awkwardly shuffled her feet until the purple-haired guy stood up with his stuff and stood as far away from her as he could. "Right," Dr Mitchell said, straightening out his desk. "Seeing as you all act like unintelligent apes whilst unsupervised, I feel it best to arrange a seating plan." He began signalling people to their seats by first and surname, until it was again just Beca stood there.

At first glance, Dr. Mitchell seemed like a nice guy. He looked like a caring, kind man, but the reality is that he's quite the villain. Especially when he was playing his role as a teacher.

"Bec- Rebeca. You're there," he said, gesturing to the seat next to a boy with a bag of bubblegum concealed in his pocket. He nodded, shuffling up so she could sit down. A smattering of whispers broke out, broken by Dr. Mitchell giving a patented _Mitchell Glare™._

"Good. Now that we've wasted about fifteen minutes on basic human politeness, we can begin the lesson. I hope you've all got your books, they're important to the-"

He was interrupted by someone unceremoniously falling through the door, landing in a pile of notes that flew up and scattered around in a snowstorm. "I'm sorry I'm late, Dr. Mitchell," the person gasped from below several stacks of white paper with things on it in neat green writing and slightly less tidy handwriting in bright blue.

"Ah. So, I thought we had a truant in our midst, but it turns out to be far worse than that. A latecomer. Your name?" Beca didn't need vocal clarification, once the girl straightened up and Beca caught sight of the hair and those damn eyes, she knew who was late to her father's class.

"Sorry, sir. Chloe Beale. I'm not usually late but the marching band meeting ran over."

Beca felt the blood drain from her face. Dr Mitchell doesn't care for excuses as a father or as a teacher, but he seemed to take this one acceptably. "Sit down next to Rebeca and don't interrupt unless you're dying. As I was saying, I hope you all brought your textbooks…"

Chloe nudged her excitably. "Hi!" she whispered. Beca urgently shook her head, eyes wide. Pulling out a piece of paper, she took some notes before scrawling, "don't ever talk in his lesson. EVER." She underlined the "ever" part about three times before sliding it over to the ginger. She softly giggled, writing her own reply and sliding it over.

"I doubt he's that bad, he seems nice." Beca emphatically shook her head.

"He's very strict. He gets angry if one of his noodles is less wavy than the rest."

Chloe couldn't hold back a lilting laugh.

"Miss Beale, something you want to share with the class?"

"No, sir. I was just remarking on the false dichotomy that Shylock presents Antonio and how foolish Antonio is to agree to it."

Dr. Mitchell was taken aback. "Yes, hmm, well I suppose you're correct,"

Beca was equally surprised. Nabbing the paper before Chloe could write anything she incredulously remarked, "You were actually listening to that windbag?"

Chloe responded, "I'm full of surprises. Hopefully with you here to teach me what to do, I won't need to do that too often."

Beca sighed in defeat. Phrased like that, it wasn't a request. Why wouldn't this ginger leave her be? Plus she had to live through an evening of questions about her music tastes in… thirteen minutes and forty four seconds. Forty two!

* * *

 **A.N. Merry Christmas Pitches! I wanted to send something out as a happy christmas from me to you, so here you go. Reviews are strongly appreciated, they give me a kick up the rear end to do stuff. Again, undying thanks to czadrich for being amazing :) Until we read again, ~Bec**


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